I'm in the midst of what I am truly hoping is the last edit before sending 'Blue' to an agent. But it refuses to end. I drive to the lake for a break and a new scene rears its ugly head. I sit on the porch, sun shining down in long-expected heat, and a scenario says, 'Why don't you do this? Wouldn't this just look lovely?' I'm in bed and a character shouts, 'Wait. You forgot to treat my wounds.'
I shake my head. In joy and in perplexity. Joy for the tale loves me and won't let me go without it being the best. Perplexity for the never-ending quality of the beast.
However -- I love it. Every moment of it. Because it means the Muse and I are on the same wavelength. Nothing can compare to a Muse who is constantly harassing.
My editor told me I had to move a whole scene. I hadn't a clue as to what I was going to do with it. It fit perectly, I thought. The timeline couldn't be changed. I nearly chewed on my fingernails, something I haven't done since in high school. A glimmer came to me. An idea of where the dratted scene could go. Lo and behold! I love lo and beholds that work. I moved the scene and almost fell over. It fit perfectly.
Let me tell you one wee bit about it. A character is kneeling to pledge his fealty. The moved scene had another character bending his knee to pledge fealty. Ay Caramba! I love it when that happens. It feels like I'm in a groove. That everything I do is right. Of course, that doesn't last for long, but I'll sit here and reread the passages a few times and rejoice.
For the real world -- truth is stranger than fiction. We had a rash of abductions in the early 2000's. It was horrid. The families swore the teenagers were still alive and had memorials and prayer vigils every year. I would watch and pray so hard, never believing that the girls could possibly be alive.
Tonight, they escaped their captor. THREE girls - Michelle Knight, taken in 2002, Amanda Berry in 2003, and Gina DeJesus in 2004. They had been imprisoned only miles from their homes. An incredibly happy day, but one touched by sadness. Amanda Berry's mom passed away a few years ago, firmly believing her daughter still lived. Such faith and courage. It has given hope to so many in Cleveland. I weep in sorrow and in joy.
God is good.